Heart Bones - Colleen Hoover Page 0,76
night I got it. I just didn’t say it with words.” He slides his fingers through mine and leads me up a set of stairs. When he opens the door to his room, he lets me walk in first.
The balcony doors are open and there’s a breeze blowing the sheer curtains into the room. The bed is perfectly made, and I still can’t get over how clean he keeps everything. Samson flips on a lamp by the bed.
“It’s pretty,” I say, walking toward the balcony. I step outside and glance over at my bedroom. I accidentally left the light on, so I have a clear view of my bed. “You can see straight into my room.”
Samson is next to me now. “Yeah, I know. You don’t leave that light on nearly enough.”
I look at him and he’s grinning. I shove him playfully in the shoulder and walk back into the bedroom. I make my way over to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress.
I remove my shoes and then lie down on his bed and watch him. He walks slowly around the bed, staring at me from every angle.
“I feel like I’m being circled like I’m prey,” I say.
“Well, I don’t want to be the shark in this scenario.” Samson plops down next to me on the bed, holding his head up with his hand. “There. Now I’m plankton.”
“Better,” I say, smiling.
He brushes a strand of hair over my ear with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Are you nervous?”
“No. I feel comfortable with you.”
That sentence causes concern to briefly fall over his features—almost as if he finds it uncomfortable that I feel comfortable with him. But the look disappears as soon as it appeared.
“I saw that thought,” I say quietly.
“What thought?”
“The negative thought you just had.” I bring a finger to the spot between his eyebrows. “It was right here.”
He’s quiet as he digests my words. “For someone who doesn’t know a lot about me, you sure know a lot about me.”
“All the stuff you’ve kept secret from me isn’t really stuff that counts.”
“How do you know if you don’t know what secrets I’m keeping from you?” he asks.
“I don’t have to know anything about your past to know you’re a good person. I can tell by your actions. I can tell by the way you treat me. Why would it matter what kind of family you have, or how rich you are, or what the people in your past meant to you before I showed up?” That negative thought is back, so I take my finger and smooth out the wrinkles in his forehead. “Stop,” I whisper. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
Samson falls onto his back and brings his hands to his chest. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, so I scoot closer to him and lift my head up, resting it on my hand. I touch his necklace, then walk my fingers up his neck and begin tracing his lips.
He tilts his face toward mine. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this?”
His words are more of a question, so I immediately shake my head. “I want to.”
“It’s not fair to you.”
“Why? Because I don’t know everything about you?”
He nods. “I’m worried you wouldn’t be saying yes right now if you knew the whole truth about me.”
I press my lips to his, but only briefly. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m actually not,” he says. “I’ve just lived a dramatic life and you might not like it.”
“Same thing. We’re both dramatic because we have dramatic parents and dramatic pasts. We could be having dramatic sex right now if you’d stop feeling so guilty.”
He smiles. I sit up and take off my shirt. The worry in his eyes disappears as he slides me onto him so that I’m straddling him. He already feels ready, but he brings a hand up and traces a finger slowly over the lace edges of my bra like he’s in no hurry at all.
“I’ve only ever had sex in Dakota’s truck,” I say. “This will be my first time in a bed.”
Samson drags his finger down my stomach, stopping at the button on my shorts. “This will be my first time with a girl I have feelings for.”
I try to stay as stoic as him when he makes that declaration, but his words move through me so hard, I frown.
He brings his hand up to my mouth, sliding his fingers across it. “Why did that make you sad?”
I debate shaking my head to avoid